Herding Cats
by Keesha
Summary: Fête des Mousquetaires 'Brotherhood' Challenge response. The four musketeers defend the honor of the regiment.


Realistically, they knew they wouldn't escape, but hope springs eternal even in hungover musketeers. When they made it through the morning muster without incident and the Captain headed back up the stairs to his office, the four musketeers gave a collective sigh of relief. Maybe by the grace of God, last night's exploits had not been traced back to them.

While the rest of the regiment scattered to carry out their assignments, the Inseparables made a quick detour towards the kitchen. They had barely made it into the morning lineup and consequentially had missed their breakfast. After securing food, they started to settle at their favorite table to eat when a voice from above rang out harshly demanding, "My office. Now!"

The four men exchanged worried glances as if to confirm they weren't having a mass hallucination and hearing the voice of the Almighty beckoning them.

"Treville," d'Artagnan whispered because his head was pounding like the waves on the ocean's shore. The Captain's strident command felt like it was literally piercing his cranium.

Porthos, who also was feeling the effects of his imbibing last night, stated the obvious. "He don't seem happy."

"No, he doesn't," Aramis congenially agreed as he snagged a roll and took a quick bite. He needed something to help settle his roiling stomach and soak up the remnants of the alcohol still sloshing around in it.

Athos remained silent as he slowly tipped his head back to peer at the porch. Immediately, he regretted his decision as the drummer in his head increased his tempo and his unhappy stomach began to stage a revolt. Quickly lowering his head again, he quietly stood and moved towards the wooden staircase, fully expecting his brethren to fall in behind him like good soldiers.

"I fear, gentlemen, we have been summoned." Aramis shoved the rest of the roll in his mouth as he trailed along after Athos. Porthos and d'Artagnan, deciding Aramis had a good idea, also grabbed food from the table as they made their way towards the staircase.

"He knows, doesn't he?" the youngest musketeer mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.

Athos, who had made it to the first landing, stopped and hung on the rail for a moment to regain his equilibrium and take a few steadying breaths. While doing this, he still managed to send an 'of course he does' glare at his naive protégé.

"I suppose it was too good to be true." d'Artagnan groaned as he massaged the bridge of his nose, wondering how Athos managed to survive being hungover so often. It really was intensely annoying.

The four ascended the stairs, walked across the balcony, and queued up outside of Treville's door, which was firmly shut. Athos, who had been known on occasion to burst into the Captain's inner sanctum unannounced, decided protocol needed to be adhered to today. Politely, he rapped on the solid door with his knuckles, wincing as he waited for an invite. Permission to enter came in the form of an astringent barked command, which had Athos glancing over his shoulder in a perturbed manner at his brothers.

d'Artagnan's eyes grew wide at the gruff-voiced order, Porthos appeared both ashamed and uncomfortable, and the optimistic Aramis plastered an encouraging smile on his face. "I guess we'd best do as he says," Aramis declared as he swept past the immobile Athos, opened the door, and stepped inside.

It only took one look at his Captain as he crossed the threshold to make the cheerful musketeer quickly drop his smile. He hesitated before stepping backwards and motioning for Athos to assume the lead. This earned Aramis both a scowl and growl from Athos, as the senior musketeer brushed past him to enter the lion's den.

The four musketeers lined up in their usual order in front of the Captain's desk: Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. They assumed the stance of parade rest, hands clasped behind their backs, feet shoulder width apart, and eyes fixed straight ahead on a distance spot on the wall.

Captain Treville moved to stand in front of Athos, slowly inspecting the musketeer's poker-face. Athos' eyes remained staunchly fixed on the horizon, not deviating an inch as his Captain scrutinized him. However, Athos couldn't hide the lines of pain etched on his face as a result of last night's revelry and Treville wasn't surprised. Athos had shown up for muster hungover more times than the Captain cared to recall. However, Athos' behavior was tolerated because he was the best swordsman and tactician in the regiment. With an inaudible sigh, the Captain moved on to his next musketeer.

Aramis' eyes remained fixed on a spot on the distance wall except for a quick flicker to the Captain's face to make sure he still was in a foul mood. No matter how hard the romantic musketeer tried to school his countenance into appearing absolutely businesslike, there always seemed to be a bit of a twinkle lurking in those expressive brown eyes that the ladies so loved. Even hungover, Aramis managed to exude charm and wit.

The Captain moved on to study Porthos next and was not the least bit surprised that the gentle giant remained steadfast in his gaze. Even though his eyes were glued on the far wall as if his life depended on it, Treville could easily read the worry and concern resident in the dark orbs. Porthos hated to disappoint anyone, especially his beloved brothers or his Captain.

d'Artagnan, the greenest of the motley crew, was struggling not only to maintain his position, but also to stop his eyes from roving as the Captain approached him. The boy was trying and miserably failing to imitate the cool mask of his mentor. While the Gascon did his damnedest to remain blasé as his Captain studied him, he was losing the battle.

Turning precisely on his heels, Captain Treville marched over to his desk and 'accidentally' knocked a large tome off the edge of his desk. The book made a resounding thud as it slammed on the wooden floor and all the musketeers involuntarily grimaced as the noise reverberated through their tender, aching skulls. The Captain allowed a small smile to cross his lips as he confirmed his hypothesis that they were hungover. There was really no doubt in his mind that he had his culprits, but to be absolutely positive, he wanted to check one more thing.

"Gentlemen, take off your gloves and present your hands for inspection," he ordered the four musketeers.

"Why?" Athos immediately inquired, and then inwardly flinched at his impertinence. Given his Captain's mood, he knew his questioning wouldn't go over well.

"You've never felt the need to inspect our hands before," Aramis declared in case the Captain didn't realize his request was unusual.

Treville ignored Aramis as he marched over and stood toe-to-toe with his Lieutenant, his face a controlled mask of fury. "I'm your commanding officer and I just gave you a direct order. Are you questioning it?"

Athos wasn't a stupid man and knew as well as the Captain that his 'why' had been out of line. Quietly, and with as much dignity as he could muster, Athos brought his hands out from behind his back, stripped off his gloves, tucked them neatly in his belt, and presented his hands for inspection to his Captain. His three brothers taking their cue from him also meekly complied holding forth their own hands.

The four sets of hands facing the Captain had him seeing red, both literally and figuratively. To regain his composure, he turned his back on the quartet and walked a few feet away. By the time he spun around again, the four sets of offending bright red hands were out of sight behind the musketeer's backs.

Drawing a deep breath to steady his emotions, Treville asked in a conversational tone, "Guess where I spent the first hour of my day?"

"Church?" Aramis piously offered up with an angelic smile.

"Exercising?" Porthos chimed in with a slight frown.

"Sleeping?" d'Artagnan guessed though he knew it wasn't a good one. His companions had already used up the best answers.

Treville arched an eyebrow at his Lieutenant who had remained resolutely uncommunicative. "Would you like to venture a guess, Athos?"

"No," he replied in a polite, clipped monotone.

Leaning back against the edge of his paper-strewn desk, Treville folded his forearms over his leather-incased chest. "I was rudely awoken by a page from the palace who informed me that his Eminence required my immediate presence in his chambers. All before the sun had even risen over the horizon."

"I hate bein' unexpectedly woken up from a good slumber," Porthos muttered sympathetically under his breath.

"Would you care to know why the Cardinal deemed it vitally important I attend him at such an ungodly hour?" the Captain queried his four recalcitrant soldiers.

Even though each one of them had a really good idea what had upset the Cardinal, by a mutual unspoken agreement they remained mute.

Treville ran an exasperated eye over each of his musketeers, simultaneously blessing and cursing their antics. What made them the best soldiers in the regiment also made them a pain-in-the-ass to control. "His Eminence failed to find the humor in having four of his Red Guards deposited on his doorstep bald, dyed red and wearing women's clothing."

Porthos remarked, in a humorous deadpan manner that only he could pull off, "I dunno. Sounds amusin' to me."

Treville ignored the opinion of his strongest musketeer as he continued. "I don't suppose you gentlemen have any clue how that occurred?" His eyes expeditiously darted towards his Lieutenant who professed a steadfast belief in honor and integrity, but was not above lying when it suited him. "Athos, please don't tell me 'No, because that would be illegal'. I'm not in the mood today."

Athos, who had been about to offer up a statement along those lines, changed his mind and remained quiet.

Silence reigned over the room as Treville walked around to the far side of his desk, leaned on it with his hands, and once again swept his eyes across his musketeers, whose gazes remained affixed on the wall behind his head.

The Captain strove to keep his voice under control, but he failed. "Bald! Those four Red Guardsmen were completely bald! Everywhere!" he finished, distinctly enunciating each syllable.

Aramis broke the ranks first with a little shrug and a minutely arched eyebrow. "It is a pity Athos feels the need to wear a beard. His shaving skills are quite extraordinary. Not a single nick or cut...anywhere. Perhaps it is related to his phenomenal skills with a sword."

Treville glared at Athos who was looking distinctly uncomfortable with Aramis' proclamation. The blushing musketeer removed his gaze from the wall long enough to glower at Aramis before throwing him under the horse's hooves too. "Aramis' talent with a dagger shouldn't be underrated either when it comes to...," he dipped his head a little, "...shaving."

Leaning harder on the desk in front of him, Treville breathed in deeply, and then harshly exhaled. "Why?"

Athos gave an indifferent shrug and answered in the factual tone he used when he was brooking no apologies. "Perhaps, it was an error in judgement."

"It seemed like a really good idea at the time," Aramis added. "We started at the top and then," he gave a little negligent downward wave of his hand, "kept going. Smooth as a baby's behind."

Aramis gave a sideways glance at his cohort, who was sporting the slightest of smirks on his face. He didn't dare look to his right, instinctively knowing that his other two brothers were wearing open smiles. Instead, he refocused his gleeful eyes back on the imaginary spot on the far wall to maintain his composure.

Pushing off his desk, the Captain stood fully upright and crossed his arms over his chest again, as if to hold in his anger. "And whose brilliant idea was it to dye them red?"

"Seemed appropriate," Porthos rumbled. "They are Red Guards."

d'Artagnan, who had been uncomfortably shifting his weight from leg to leg ever since the Captain had asked about the dye job, finally confessed. "That would be me, Sir." His voice sounded like that of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Treville shifted his steely gaze to his youngest musketeer awaiting the ignoble details.

"Constance had mentioned earlier in the day that the guild had been commissioned to dye cloth for new drapery for the Palace. Red drapes," he added in case there was any doubt as to the color. "She mentioned that the vats of dye were being left overnight because the workers hadn't finished."

"And somehow the four of you took that as an open invitation to dunk the Cardinal's premier guards in the vats of red dye," Treville flatly stated failing to understand what drove these men to perform these crazy stunts.

"Red Guards," Porthos reminded the Captain. "If the dye had been blue," Porthos shrugged as if that might have stopped them from immersing the guards in the dye.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Aramis offered up once again.

Rounding angrily on his Lieutenant, Treville groused, "Athos, I expect better of you. It is your duty to control your impulsive brethren."

"And who is supposed to control Athos?" Porthos mumbled to Aramis, who shook his head to indicate he had no idea.

Athos' sigh was quite audible as he shifted his green eyes to glance at his brothers, and then back at the wall. "It is like herding...cats."

Treville couldn't stop his fingers from drumming on the flesh of his arm. "And how drunk were you?" he pointedly questioned the piqued musketeer.

"Quite," was the wry, monosyllabic reply.

Porthos cleared his throat. "Err, that was kind of my fault, Captain."

Rotating his head to stare at his street fighter with disbelief and incredulity, Treville sarcastically asked, "Did you restrain him and pour alcohol down his throat?"

Porthos uneasily glanced around at the rest of his brothers as if to determine how to answer that question.

The Captain held up a hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

The Captain unfolded his arms and ran a hand through his already disheveled greying hair. "And for heaven's sake, why the women's clothing? Wasn't the shaving and dye job enough humiliation for one night?"

"We was bein' considerate. Didn't want to get red dye all over their uniforms," Porthos answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"I see," the Captain said in a tone that clearly indicated he didn't understand in the least. "It was fine to shave and dye them, but not to wrinkle their clothes. And what of the poor women whose dresses you stole?"

"We didn't steal them," Porthos declared, insulted at the insinuation. "Athos left them money for the dresses."

Treville's eyes slid over to glance at Athos. "Of course he did."

With yet another indifferent shrug and the infuriating Comte tone he could turn off and on at will, Athos affirmed, "It was only... proper."

"Trust me, absolutely nothing you did last night by any stretch of the imagination falls into the realm of proper!" The Captain started pacing behind his desk. "I have asked you a hundred times not to harass the Cardinal's Red Guards. In case you haven't noticed, you four are not on the Cardinal's list of favorite people. If you fell off the face of the earth tomorrow, his Eminence would not lose a wink of sleep over your demise. And yet, for some insane reason, instead of giving the man a wide berth, you go out of your way to find new and imaginative ways to irritate him."

The Captain stopped pacing, ran his hand through his hair again in aggravation, and noted that sometime during his tirade, the four musketeers had shifted their focus from the wall to him. "Just answer me one question, honestly. Why did you do it?"

"Honor," Athos rapidly replied.

"Integrity," Aramis firmly said.

"Fun," Porthos truthfully answered.

"Brotherhood," d'Artagnan solemnly stated and his brothers turned their heads to stare at him for a moment.

"Aye. The pup has it right. It was brotherhood," Porthos reflectively agreed in his deep baritone.

"Indeed it was," Aramis seconded and Athos silently nodded his head in concurrence.

Treville wearily walked to the chair behind his desk and sank into it. "Brotherhood," he repeated as if testing out the word. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Believe it or not, Captain," d'Artagnan piped up, "we were actually minding our own business last night in that tavern. Porthos wasn't fleecing anyone at cards, Aramis wasn't flirting with anyone's wife, and Athos wasn't so drunk as to cause a scene. We were drinking, swapping tales, and enjoying each other's company."

Giving d'Artagnan a skeptical look, Captain Treville tried to reconcile the picture being painted by the boy with the image in his mind of four bald, red, femininely dressed guards laid out at the Cardinal's feet.

Aramis picked up the tale and forged onward. "Those four buffoons entered the tavern, took up at the table next to us, and proceeded to become quite drunk and very obnoxious. Being that we were in a mellow mood, we nobly ignored their unpleasant commentary, which was aimed at our person."

"But then," Porthos took up the baton, "they started pickin' on our regiment. Our brothers. Sayin' really nasty things. Makin' ludicrous accusations. Blasphemy, it was. Athos politely asked them to keep their opinions to themselves, but that didn't sit well with them."

Athos arched an eyebrow and tilted his head. "I offered them a few options, none being violent in nature. But I fear my suggestions did not resolve the problem, but only escalated it." He made a noise, which could only be described as a sigh of resignation. "Things went downhill from that point."

"Surely you understand that we couldn't let those louts disparage the Musketeers? Our brotherhood?" d'Artagnan pleaded with his Captain.

"Aye. My brothers." Porthos' warm brown eyes swept the three men standing at his side. "This is all the family I have. This regiment is my home. I won't let anyone hurt them."

"I too feel the same as Porthos. My mother is dead as is my father. I came to the Musketeers desolate and was welcomed with open, forgiving arms," d'Artagnan looked gratefully at his mentor, "even after my foolish acts. The regiment is my family. I will defend them at all costs!"

"We are a brotherhood. These are the brothers of my heart and soul. Who else but family would put up with my eccentricities?" Aramis added his feelings to the conversation.

"You got that right," Porthos confirmed with a growl and a little nod.

"I love my brothers, the regiment, and even you, Captain." Aramis' devilish smile had Treville beginning to smile before he remembered that this was supposed to be a dressing down and not a love fest.

"I will do everything in my power not to let anyone tarnish the good reputation of our brotherhood," Aramis concluded with a wave of his hand.

All eyes in the room shifted to rest upon the taciturn member of the group, who had yet to declare his love for his brothers. Athos' green eyes briefly rested on each one of his fellow musketeers, sans Treville, studying them deeply as only he could. It was if he were laying bare their souls, sifting through its' pieces and determining their worthiness.

Finally, his eyes circled back to rest on Captain Treville. "When Thomas died I...," Athos' voice went hoarse with the pain of remembrance. He took a deep breath to steady his emotions. "I didn't ask for it." He removed his feathered hat and ran a distracted hand through his brown, unruly locks. "And God knows I fought against it." A minuscule, beholden smile graced his lips. "But my new brothers fought with all their love to save me from myself." Athos' eyes grew defiant as he raised his head. "No one will take my brotherhood from me in words or deeds."

The forcefulness of the statement from his musketeer of few words nearly had the Captain apologizing for ever doubting their actions. The passion, the love, the camaraderie and the brotherhood pouring from these four men, these Inseparables, was overwhelming in its intensity.

"But perhaps," Athos continued in a more conciliatory tone, "in our earnestness to defend our regiment, our brotherhood as d'Artagnan aptly stated, we were a tad overzealous." Bowing his head to stare at the scarred wooden planks below his feet, Athos concluded, "We accept whatever punishment you deem necessary for us to atone for our actions."

Taking their cue from their contrite leader, the other three musketeers also lowered their eyes, subserviently studying the floor.

Sometimes it took all the Captain's wits to keep up with the mercurial moods of these four musketeers. They entered the room as four cagey foxes trying to sneak into the hen house, preceded on to be fierce wolves protecting the pack, and now appeared as sheep willing to be lead to the slaughter.

Steeling his resolve, Treville stated, "A suitable punishment is required. The Cardinal is quite...dismayed. Gentlemen, go about your duties..." Four sets of hopeful eyes rose from the floor to stare at him. "...while I think up a suitable disciplinary action." The eyes momentarily registered disappointment at not getting off scot-free.

"Dismissed," the Captain firmly commanded.

The musketeers sedately filed from the office, walked down the stairs and settled at their favorite table. Athos, who had taken the seat at the head of the table, immediately folded his arms, dropped his aching head onto his forearms, and pulled his hat low. Porthos and d'Artagnan grabbed food and began to eat, while Aramis smoothed his mustache.

"Wonder what our punishment will be?" d'Artagnan mused around a mouthful of apple.

"I'm sure the Captain will come up with something appropriate," Aramis offered up as he reached for the pitcher of water, poured two mugs, and shoved one in the direction of the prone Athos who ignored it.

"By 'appropriate' I hope you ain't meanin' shaved and dyed blue. Maybe covered in chicken feathers." Porthos shuddered as the rest of the musketeers, except Athos, glared at him. "I'm just sayin'."

"Don't give him any ideas," Athos commanded from his face down position.

"Maybe we'll have to kneel at the feet of the Cardinal. Beg his forgiveness. Kiss his royal robes," Aramis suggested getting into the spirit of things.

"I'd rather be dyed blue," Porthos scowled as Athos groaned from his place at the head of the table wishing his brothers would shut up.

Aramis' mind went into overdrive. "Maybe, we'll be forced to spend, oh I don't know, like a month serving with the Red Guard to build camaraderie and see the errors of our ways."

"Shoot me," was Porthos' commentary on that idea.

"Or maybe they will join us here, in the Garrison," Aramis suggested next.

Porthos comment on that idea was, "Shoot them."

d'Artagnan cocked his head at his brother. "I think, Porthos that would spoil the concept of repentance."

"Gentlemen," the ghostly voice from the table top interrupted. "The Captain will come up with what he feels is a suitable penitence and inform us. At that point with the grace and dignity that marks our brotherhood, we shall accept it. Until then, shut the hell up! My head is killing me!"

His three brothers fell silent for a whole minute as they stared at the bowed head of their grouchy brother and contemplated his words. Then they were off and running again with outlandish ideas.

"Cats!" Athos darkly muttered into his forearms. Brotherhood indeed, he thought. Maybe being an only child wasn't so bad after all.

The End

 _A/N: In order to keep within the word count boundary, you will have to use your own imagination to envision what punishment the Captain meted out for the Inseparables. I gave you a few ideas to start you off, but please feel free to add to the list. Perhaps even a short story. Just saying..._

 _About the writing challenge._

 _To learn more about this challenge, please go_ _, under the forum called F_ _ête des Mousquetaires_ _. Below are the rules. Please spread the word to get maximum entries so we have lots of new lovely stories to read while we await the arrival of Season 3._

 _Response to the one word prompt 'Brotherhood'_

 _Between 1000 and 5000 words (This does not include the Authors note and is flexible up to 10% each way)_

 _Not rated above 'Teen'_

 _Posted on A03 or .net_

 _5\. Written in English._

 _6\. Original characters are permitted but the focus must be on characters, which appear in the show although these can be as minor as you like._

 _7\. All entries must be proofread, if there are so many mistakes that it becomes obstructive to the reading of the story as a whole then that story will be disqualified from winning, although if there is time left before the closing date you can resubmit a proofread version of the story._

 _8\. If you are feeling really inspired and want to post more than one entry, please feel free. I think we can all do with more stories about the wonderful musketeer boys in our life._


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